"I never said anything about Grumpy
Weasel's filling any bills," Mr. Crow spluttered. "Knot holes were what I had in mind. I've no doubt, though, that you'd like Grumpy Weasel to fill your own bill."
Now, if Solomon Owl had not tried more than once to catch Grumpy Weasel perhaps Mr. Crow's retort wouldn't have made him feel so uncomfortable. And muttering that he wished when people spoke of his beak they wouldn't call it a bill, and that Mr. Crow was too stupid to talk to, Solomon blundered away into the woods.
It was true, of course, that Grumpy Weasel was about the quickest of all the furred folk in Pleasant Valley. Why, you might be looking at him as he stopped for a moment on a stone wall; and while you looked he would vanish before your eyes. It was just as if he had melted away in an
instant, so quickly could he dart into a crevice between the stones.
It was surprising, too, that he could whisk himself out of sight so fast, for his body was absurdly long. But if he was long in one way he was short in another. Yes! Grumpy Weasel had the shortest temper of all the field- and forest-folk throughout Pleasant Valley. Even peppery Peter Mink was not so short-tempered as he.
So terrible tempered was Grumpy Weasel that whenever the news flashed through the woods that he was out hunting, all the small people kept quite still, because they were afraid. And even some of the bigger ones—a good deal bigger than Grumpy Weasel himself—felt uneasy.
So you can see whether or not Grumpy Weasel was welcome.